consulting once a week or so, and they say that you can talk to them here if you wish."

"It's too much responsibility," he answered.

"But it's so respectable," she urged. "My heart is set on it. They tell me that, next to Mr. Morgan, you would be the greatest power in American finance. We should all be so proud of you."

"I couldn't wish you to be any more proud of me," he answered, tenderly.

"But, naturally, we want you to be as great as you can, Whitfield," she went on. "This would mean so much to me and to Gwendolyn."

He rose wearily, with a glance into my eyes which I perfectly understood, and went to his wife and kissed her and said:

"My dear, I am sure that Mr. Potter will agree with me."

"Unreservedly," was my answer.

I knew then that this ambitious woman was as ignorant as the cattle in their farmyard of the greater honors which he had declined.

She rose and left the room with a look of disappointment. How far the urgency of his wife and other misguided friends may have gone I know not, but I have reason to believe that it put him to his wit's ends.

I am sure that it was the most singular situation in which a lawyer was ever consulted. My client's high character had commanded the love and confidence of all who knew him well, and this love and confidence were pushing him into danger. His own character was the wood of the cross on which he was being crucified.

That week I appeared for Norris in a case of some importance in New York. One day in court a letter was put in my hands from the editor of a great newspaper. It requested that I should call upon him that day or appoint an hour when he could see me at my hotel. I went to his office.

"Is it true that Norris is to be our new minister to—?" he asked.

"It is not true," I said.

"Is it true that he served a term in an Illinois prison?"

"Why do you ask?"

"For the reason that a story to that effect is now in this office."

It was a critical moment, and I did not know how to behave myself.

"I mean that a man has submitted the story—he wishes to sell it," he added.

"Forgive me if I speak a piece to you," I said. "It will be short and to the point."

As nearly as I could remember them I repeated the noble lines of Whitman:

"And still goes one, saying,

'What will ye give me and I will deliver this man unto

you?'

And they make the covenant and pay the pieces of silver,

The old, old fee... paid for the Son of Mary.

"If there's any descendant of Judas Iscariot on this paper I shall see to it that his name and relationship are made known," I added.

"We have not bought the article, and it is not likely that we shall," said he. "If you wish to answer my question I shall make no use of your words."

There are times when one has to act and act promptly on his own judgment, and when the fate of a friend is in the balance it is a hard thing to do. So I quickly chose my landing and jumped.

"I have only this to say," I answered. "Mr. Norris served a term in prison when he was a boy, but the facts are of such a nature that it wouldn't be safe for you to publish any part of them."

I saw a query in his eye as he looked at me, and I went on:

"They are loaded—that's the reason—loaded to the muzzle, and they'd come pretty near blowing up your establishment. You know my reputation possibly."

"Oh, very well."

"Then you know that I am not in the habit of going off at half-cock. I tell you the facts would put you squarely on the Judas roll, and it isn't a popular part to play. Briefly, the facts are: Norris suffered for a friend, and that puts him on a plane so high that it isn't safe to touch him."

"On your word, Mr. Potter, I will do what I can to kill the story—now and hereafter," said he. "The young man who wrote it is a decent fellow and will soon be in my employ. But of course Norris will decline to be put in high places."

Even this enlightened editor saw that a man who had suffered prison blight was a kind of frost-bitten plum. I left him with a feeling of discouragement in the world and its progress.

Before a week had passed I was summoned to the home of Norris and found him ill in bed. He was in the midst of a nervous breakdown which had seemed to begin with a critical attack of indigestion. It wearied him even to sign and execute his will, and I saw him for only a few minutes, and not again for months.

He improved rapidly, and one day Gwendolyn Norris called at my office.

The family were sailing for Hamburg within a week to spend the rest of the winter at Carlsbad and Saint Moritz. She said:

"Father wishes me to begin my business career, and so I've been looking after the details, and you must tell me if there's anything that I have forgotten."

I went over all the arrangements regarding cats and dogs and horses and tickets and hotel accommodations, and then asked, playfully:

"What provision have you made for the young men you are leaving?"

"There's only, one," said she, with laughing eyes, "and he can take care of himself. He doesn't seem to need any of my help. But he's fine. I recommend him to you as a friend."

"Yes, I understand. You want me to get his confidence and see that he goes to bed early and doesn't forget his friends."

She blushed and laughed, and added:

"Or get into bad company!"

"You're a regular ward politician!" I said. "Don't worry. I'll keep my eye on him."

"You don't even know his name," she declared.

"Don't I? The name Richard is written all over your face."

"How uncanny!" she exclaimed. "I'm going to leave you." Then she added, with a playful look in her eyes, "You know it's a dangerous place for American girls who—who are unattached."

"We don't want to frighten him."

"It wouldn't be possible—he's awfully brave," said she, with a merry laugh as she left me.

That was the last I saw of them before they sailed.

My friend had taken his doctor with him, and soon the latter wrote me from the mountain resort that Norris had improved, but that I must not appeal to him in any matter of business. All excitement would be bad for him, and if it came suddenly might lead to fatal results.